Qualis Artifex Pereo: Potentia
Nov 27, 2022 3:39:37 GMT -5
Karlie Nash, Downfall, and 2 more like this
Post by Dionysus on Nov 27, 2022 3:39:37 GMT -5
The lights feel heavy. I feel heavy. This bastard really is going to keep me waiting as long as he wants, huh? The room was bare. A chair for myself, a chair for my uncle, and a pane of glass separating us. There was a door leading out of the room, along with a “mirror” for monitoring purposes. Not like there won’t be a guard in here with us. …Right? My hands were clenched together, my heart pounding out of its chest. My nerves were catching up with me. It had been several years since I saw Anton Heedon, my uncle on my mother’s side. Certainly not at his most flattering, as he was being forced into the back of a police car. I swore on that day I would never see my uncle again unless I needed to. Even when his trial came up and the counts of fraud, embezzlement and racketeering were read back, no one from our family stood with him. It would be a cold day if I ever saw him. That day was today. And the moment… The door across from me creaked open. The steps were painful. So was the look of the man before me. What caught my eye first was the eyepatch. Medical dressing peaked from under the black leather patch, his thinning gray hair draping over the straps holding the patch in place. His face, withered and liver-spotted, was decorated with a white goatee. His hands shook as he walked forward in his orange jumpsuit, the cuffs dangling with roughly a foot of slack. This shell of a man was my uncle, Anton Heedon. The years were unkind, but I could still recognize the evil gleam in his eye. His expression was somber as he pulled his chair out to sit down. Once seated, he looked up at me, holding me in his gaze for a moment. I swallowed hard. I could feel his stare like it was a drill into my mind, fishing for whatever information he wanted. He slowly turned to the guard, giving them a nod. I hardly noticed the guard leave. All I could see was the man's gaze. Was he trying to recognize who I was? Surely someone had informed him who his visitor was; it wasn't as though I kept it a secret. Another beat of silence passed... ...And then his expression changed...to recognition. Then...a smile? "Ahh...Dionysus Albert Berget...my nephew." His voice sounded raspier than usual; perhaps his smoking habit became worse during his incarceration. He clapped his hands together cheerfully, saying "You look more like your mother every day. It has been too long." I started to speak, but the words failed to come out...at first. I coughed, regaining my composure. "You certainly...look different." Anton gestured to the eyepatch. "I'm sure you are taken aback. I cannot begin to describe how painful the experience was. However, the consequences of my position left me with...this gift." "That gift being?" "Perception. Awareness. Knowing that no matter where I go, I must ensure all eyes are on me...even myself," He cryptically answered. He absent-mindedly pointed upward, noting the cameras in each half of the room. "It is my insurance, you see. The knowledge that even my eye is on me." I shook my head. "You understand how insane that sounds, ri-" Anton laughed deeply, coughing as he did so. "Oh dear nephew, do play along. What sounds better; I gave up my eye as a gift of vision, or I lost my eye in a yard brawl?" I shrugged. "Probably the one that ensures the job is finished." The silence grew between us. This banter was getting us nowhere. Anton simply continued on. "And my sister...sorry, your mother...how does she fare?" My nostrils flared, and I could only hope my eyes narrowing shared that same expression. "She is fine. And that is all you will get from me." Anton chuckled. "What, we hardly speak over this past decade, and THIS is how you choose to address me? I am simply asking if your mother is well, why must you be so hostile about thi-" "YOU RUINED OUR LIVES!!!" I yelled. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I paused, having now realized I stood out of my chair, pointing at him accusingly. "Why do you think you're even sitting on the other side of this glass?" I asked him rhetorically. I slapped my hands on the counter in front of me, looking him dead in the eye. "Because of everything you did, we had to fight to survive. We scournged and saved at every chance we could. There were nights that I would go hungry. Where we didn't even have heat. IN THE DEAD OF WINTER. There are days where we STILL find messes of yours that we need to clean up. Between legal fees and medical fees, our debts kept mounting up. And all because you chose to go into business with the wrong people." At first, I could tell my uncle was taken aback by the outburst. But after the momentary shock, he sat there, analyzing my every word, every motion, every reaction to my life's struggles...like he was some goddamn computer. I collected the chair and sat back down, gritting my anger through my teeth. "Much as I would love to reach through this glass pane and give you the thrashing you deserve...I need to ask you something. You're the only one who knows the answer." Anton looked surprised by the request, but nodded and said, "Anything for my dear nephew. Tell me what Uncle Anton can do for you." I took a deep breath. The moment had finally come. "Tell me what happened to Hector Berget...my father." The look he gave me, along with what he said next, was going to haunt me for the rest of my days. "Your father...I was responsible. He is...gone." ------------------------------------------------ Previously, in the life of Dionysus, I had received a life-changing bonus. Deciding to keep a portion for myself, I chose to split the rest between different charities, then proclaimed that I would make the year of twenty-twenty-two The Year of Wine and Roses. It started on a high note; Tag Team Champion in Action Wrestling, Courage Champion in Level Up Wrestling, a number of key appearances around the industry that helped me network. I felt the dream was achievable. The Courage title was the first to go. Then at Evolution, the record run was ended and the Tag Team titles changed hands. The wine began to sour, the roses wilting. I chose to focus on the core of the mission; to be a dominant force and win. You tell me, Action Wrestling; how will history view my earlier proclamation? ...On second thought, keep your answers to yourself. Dwelling on the past, or rather, relying on the past, has not helped me, nor anyone in this match, in the slightest. People of promise choosing a different goal instead of the one set before us. Regan Voorhees, a breakout star of the Cruiserweight division, whose key alliances have kept her a relevant fixture on both brands. Sam Kidsgrove, the last surviving member of The Hollywood Elite, a midcard icon attempting to grab his main stage moment. Odin Balfore, an icon of an old era, continuing to spread his legacy as best he can. With the usual level of respect that comes with being around such wonderful talent comes, naturally, the usual detractions. Between the three of us, our level of success in the year of twenty-twenty-two has been...mild at best. Regan has been standing off to one side of Jill Park, coasting alongside her success and making everyone in Action Wrestling wonder what happened to the enigma from the 201. Kicking off from last Turmoil, you spent the better half of this year fighting myself and Downfall in an act of vengeance. Remind me, Regan; how well did that work out for you? Ah yes, you cost Downfall and I a world title match here and there. And yes, you bruised us up something fierce. But at what cost? It isn't as though we were cast aside; rather, we moved forward while you sat behind. Kidsgrove has all the bitter resentment of the small town actor who wants to be cast as Javert but only manages to secure the role of Thenardier, and fails to realize that this is the lot he has been given. One US title to show for the entirety of the year, and that lasted about as long as a final curtain call. Odin at least has been consistent, securing Television and CBS gold over his tenure...but a legend like him, coasting in these divisions, and that was the best he could manage? The man who went to war with WALTER is reduced to this? What the hell happened to us? It isn't as though opportunities like this don't land at our feet infrequently. Hell, even Kidsgrove managed to get placed into a #1 contendership match after losing in the semi-finals of the Wrestler of the Year tournament. Oh but of course, we can't have any good, hardworking contenders get their chance; no, its Kidsgrove once again getting handed a consolation prize because he "missed it by THAT much." Came up short at Glory, huh? Well that's okay; we'll give you a #1 Contender shot for that old US belt right out the gate! Oh, you lost the follow-up match to that? No problem; here's your chance at All-in! Oh wait, you lost that too...well, at least we'll give you your own shot at the world title immediately afterward! Now I know what you're thinking: Dionysus is bitter because Kidsgrove gets all these chances and he has to start from scratch fighting the new guys all the time. And you know what? I can afford to be bitter. The amount of work I put into this business and Kidsgrove has the audacity to say he gets looked over each and every time when a title opportunity comes up. How many handouts do you see me getting? How many chances have you squandered while I sat backstage biding my time? At least when I saw my moment to explode in the Wrestler of the Year tournament, I took it. Your fuse hasn't even been lit yet. Speaking of threads, I'm reminded constantly of how often Regan referred to me as "The B Player" in The Vanguard every time I see her now with Jill. What should have been a moment of triumph for you was turned on its head. The war between Affluenza and The Vanguard was one of several small victories for you and of each decisive battle going to us. Then Jill took the reins, and you were relegated to the passenger seat, no longer the head of your entourage, but a side part of hers. Deliciously ironic. And here again, the same place you were one year ago, ready to take your revenge on Downfall for the loss...and you came up short. Again. The entirety of your year, much like the pigs you keep under your care, was slaughtered, ready to be harvested for its parts. Everyone of consequence managed to pass you by. Even me. Lest we forget Odin, the most consistent of us this year. You managed to secure the Television title near the beginning of the year, then, several months later, you secured the CBS title. Bravo. A second-time, even, for the TV belt, as the first one netted you a Triple Crown. But aside from those flash-in-the-pan title reigns, your year has gone about as well as to be expected from the legend coasting to the finish line. And here you now stand, squaring up with the other main event rejects at a chance to fumble the ball one more time. To get that last bit of shine before you hang up the boots for good, right? The relic of Asgard Assisted Living. Two years ago you fought tooth and nail to kill a man for a belt. Now you'll limp along taking any slight without even a second thought. You're somehow both smart enough to know when you fight below your weight class, and dumb enough to not know what color glass is. Or did you also forget the wine mixer? Oh, don't think I forgot about how you and Singh bungled up the trios tournament. Here I am, thrust upon two of the most impossible men in the business in a feeble attempt to make them co-exist. And look at the result of that. A shrug from you and you move on to lose the CBS belt. No fire, no fight; just the next payday for Odin Balfore. Senior slides are meant for college semesters, not for a legend like you. I should be quaking in fear at the sound of your name. Instead I'm quivering because I'm waiting for a piss just in case you do something interesting. Or just anything, for that matter. We're all sitting here at the brink of mediocrity, apparently the best available to take on Angelo to mix it up in the winter ratings. And we're a goddamn disappointment. ...No, sorry, I take it back. YOU are the disappointments. ------------------------------------------------ The silence grew even deeper. My heart dropped. Was it a second? A minute? An hour? No one had come in. But the news I had received... "...Yes. I know he is gone. But what do you mean by 'gone?'" I hated to ask, but I felt that the answer was...misleading. Anton shook his head. "Whatever do you mean? Gone is gone. Hector, your father, is gone. Not here. Away. He went to Japan on business years ago. Did no one tell you?" "I hugged him goodbye at the airport, all those years ago" I replied coldly. The man was toying with me, I could feel it. "He wrote to us for two years, then suddenly, there was not a single word. You took over the business, you used it as a front, and a year later, you were arrested for it." I slammed my fist on the counter, a brief pain shooting through my hand as I slammed it too hard. "I'm not here to play games, you jackass. You know what happened to him. And you're going to tell me." "Or else what, dare I ask?" Anton replied coldly. "I am already incarcerated. What is done is done. Why am I under any obligation to help you find him?" "No longer wanting to help your family when they need it?" I questioned in the same sardonic tone he was giving me. "Besides, you already told me what I wanted to hear." Anton thought for a moment, then realized his mistake; he had let slip a nugget of the truth. This interrogation was paying off. He was either alive, or at the very least he knew his last location. "What if I told you it could help reduce your sentence? Get you out on 'good behavior?' Would you help me then?" It was a long shot, and even though I did not want to give him an ounce of freedom, it may be enough to tip the scales. His thoughtful consideration of the offer seemed proof that I was right. "Your mother's face hides your father's ruthless cunning. Its what made him one of my favorite business partners...legitimate, of course." Anton sighed, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Very well, I shall tell you what I know. Hector left for Japan approximately twenty years ago to help establish a new wrestling school. They wanted to have a sister school as an anchor for international shows, and your father chose to jump at the opportunity. Heck, I even thought it was a good idea and encouraged him to go while I held down the fort, as it were. Those years were hard; our letters were more in-depth than his heartfelt home mailings, after all. The school was failing; students continued to be injured, staff changes happened on a monthly basis, administrative costs were beginning to increase. It was when the school finally burned down that your father had decided he wanted to return home. That was two years after he had left." Anton paused, staring at me as he continued. "You know what I say next has already been said in court. During that time, I was using your father's business as a front, and if he were to return prematurely it would jeopardize our operation. So I gave him an ultimatum; make his current situation work, or his family would be the first victims of my wrath. He chose a third option. He would separate himself from his family and continue the work until it was finished. What he had not told me was that he had also been released from his contract, thereby being free from his obligation to me. So, holding a limp rope in my hand, I watched as the possibility of an international business opportunity sailed off into the sunset. Understandably, I was furious. And that fury lead to..." he raised his hands and gestured at the room. "...well, lets say this conversation would not be happening had he not double-crossed me. All I know is that he is out there, probably looking for word that I am either dead or safely behind bars. I doubt he is truly dead; however, given how many years it has been, he may as well be." I listened carefully for even the slightest hint, but gauged nothing from him. It mattered little to me; I now had a better idea of where to continue. I gave my uncle a smile, the first time I had done so to him in a while. "All these years...and you seemed eager to tell someone...anyone...about my father." Anton's expression began to soften. He reached out at the glass, touching it gingerly. "I know the kind of monster that I am, Dionysus. The Bergets are a family of kind men with strong will. I know your father would be proud of you, to stand before the demon of your past. Maybe...we can start anew, put this business behind us." There was a second where I almost believed him, his good eye welling up a single tear. But I knew better. The man was putting on an act. He was a con artist through and through, even though he told me his truth. I simply stood up, turned away from him, and walked toward the door. "When I find him...I'll bring him here. I'm sure you'll have much to catch up on..." I trailed off, turning to face my uncle one last time before saying, in his sarcastically evil tone, "My dear uncle." I didn't need to see his face to know that evil grin had returned. But I had a man to find. ------------------------------------------------ Is this where it really is going to end for each of us? To simply sit on the laurels of our past, or in Kidsgrove's case, delude ourselves that our hard work got us these opportunities and that they really matter? What happened to us? Well let me tell you what happened to us; we got complacent. We got ahead of ourselves. We allowed people who had the mouth and the talent to back it up to breeze past us while we sat back and fought amongst ourselves shouting why we had it worse. Unlike you sorry lot, I'm not going to sit around and let my accomplishments speak for themselves. That's what my actions are meant to do. I grew tired of the Odins of the world continually being in the hunt as a mere obstacle, not even an annoyance. I grew tired of the Regans taking a backseat to their own glory to live vicariously through others. I grew tired of the Kidsgroves whining about the opportunities they should have had not realizing the ones they had set before them time and time again. Early on, I asked an important question: how will history view my proclamation of The Year of Wine and Roses? I do not require your answers, because they are irrelevant to me. But here is my answer. It was premature. It was viewed through the lens of a man who had a chip on his shoulder and felt the world was his. And the world humbled him. The losses mounted. The desperation set in...followed by the depression. Then the realization hit me. My way of thinking was flawed. I cannot make the moment my own without having started it myself. I needed to find the fire I had long ago, when I first held the Trilogy Cup in my hand. The courage to stand against the tide. The wisdom to acknowledge my shortcomings. The power to overcome those shortcomings. These components made me a champion. I had regressed from a champion to an artist. And an artist cannot survive in war. Thus, the gladiator was reborn. Ah, but what an artist that dies in me. I understand what must be done to succeed. I needed to remind myself of that. Quia Possum Luctari. I wrestle because I can. With the acceptance of this credo, I was able to do the unbelievable. My career was on the verge of folding a bad hand and came back with a much needed victory. And now, as a new hand is dealt, I must remind myself of two things. That the odds here in Action Wrestling have been against me from the start. And that I stand here to defy those odds. Time to lay the past to rest. It is time for the Crimson Gladiator to march toward the future. Deificatus. |
